Talking about toothaches is pretty much guaranteed to make me curl up in a ball and make pitiful noises, like guys do when they see someone on TV get hit in the balls. I once had a botched root canal abscess, and since I’d recently moved, I didn’t have a new dentist other than the one who’d screwed up my tooth in the first place, so when the pain manifested itself at 2 a.m., I had no one to call. I took every kind of painkiller we had in the house. I chewed ice cubes. I begged Mr. A to pull my tooth out with pliers. I started seeing things. It felt like an ice pick inside my face trying to force its way out. Just typing it out right now is making my jaw twinge.
We called three emergency rooms, all of which did not have a dentist on duty. Call your dentist, they urged, like I’d be on their line if that was an option. I finally did call the quack, whose emergency line was an answering machine, probably in her garage.


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